“Really, Madeline.” Henry’s steady voice broke in. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”
Recognizing a champion, Camilla bounded from the floor and raced into her father’s arms. “I want my doll back and she won’t give it to me.”
Madeline watched the exchange as if in a dream. To see her daughter acting in this manner without the slightest concern for Catherina’s feelings was almost too heartbreaking to bear.
“Catherina,” Henry said, his voice stern but not gruff. “Is it Camilla’s doll?”
Madeline’s temper rose again. How did he think a child of Catherina’s circumstances would have gotten such a toy?
Trembling, the slave child nodded.
“Well, then, you must give it back. We don’t take things that belong to others. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, popping one thumb into her rosebud mouth.
Camilla wiggled from her father’s arms. She flounced to Catherina, jerked the doll from her hands, then tossed it onto her bed.
Henry’s mouth dropped open at the display. He stared wide-eyed at Madeline.
“Now may I deal with this?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, practically shaking with anger.
In stunned silence, he nodded.
Drawing a breath to steady herself, Madeline eyed her daughter, careful not to show her anger. “Camilla, darling. You have not played with that doll in months, so Mama gave Catherina permission to play with it. You were standing right there when I did so. Do you remember?”
“Yes. But I wanted it.”
“Which of you two girls had it first?”
Camilla’s gaze settled on the floor. “It’s mine.”
“Camilla Penbrook, I insist you look at me when I’m speaking to you. Who had the doll first?”
Sending Catherina a venomous look, she pointed. “She did.”
Madeline swallowed hard and kept her words deliberately calm. “She has a name. Use it, please.”
“Catherina did.”
“I would like you to take the doll from your bed and hand it to Catherina so that she might play with it.”
Madeline drew a sharp breath as a cramp tightened her abdomen. Oh, dear Lord, please don’t let me lose my baby.
Camilla grabbed the doll from the bed and jutted her chin forward as she held it out for Catherina. The slave child took two steps forward. Just as she reached out for it, Camilla dropped the toy to the floor.
“Camilla Penbrook!”
“She can pick it up if she wants it.”
Suddenly a spasm seized Madeline. “Henry.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears as she groped for her husband’s steadying arm. Blackness invaded her senses and she felt herself falling. . .floating. From far away she could hear the soft cries of her husband and child, then nothingness overcame her.
*****
Andy glanced up as Miss Penbrook’s voice trailed off. She stared in silence at the opposite wall, lost in her memories.
Henry waited for a moment, hoping she would come back and finish the story. When it appeared she might not, he finally spoke. “Miss Penbrook?”
The elderly woman jerked her chin and stared at him, confusion clouding her eyes. “Yes?”
“Your mother. Did she lose the baby?”
“The baby went to heaven to be with Jesus.” Tears sprang to the faded eyes. “It’s all my fault. Mama cries and cries because she misses the baby. We’re moving to Missouri so she’ll be happy again.”
Tears rolled down the weathered cheeks, and Andy felt his heart lurch. He glanced around, wondering if he should call for the housekeeper. Clearly, the elderly woman had lost her senses and thought herself a child.
He rose and walked to the open door. “Delta!”
The housekeeper appeared in a matter of seconds. “What are you shoutin’ about?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but something’s wrong with Miss Penbrook.”
A worried frown creased her brow. “I tole you she gets addled. The past always upsets her.” She brushed past him, an accusing glare flashing in her eyes. As though it was his fault the old lady had lost her marbles.
She sat on the edge of the bed and took the weeping woman into her arms. “Shhh. It’s okay, Miz Penbrook. Delta’s here.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want the doll, really. She can have it.”
“Shh,” Delta soothed. “Don’t go blamin’ yourself, child. God needed that little baby in heaven. It weren’t your fault.”
Within moments, Miss Penbrook’s sobs subsided, and her breathing slowed to a rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Delta laid her gently back on her pillow. She arranged the comforter over her shoulders, then tiptoed toward the door, motioning for Andy to follow.
“She can’t talk no more today. You got a room where I can call you when she’s ready to go on?”
Andy shook his head. “I came straight here.”
“It would be better for her to let it go. You see how guilty she gets to feelin’ about her childhood.” Delta shook her head and gave a low cluck of her tongue.
Disappointment swept through Andy. He had hoped to do the interview in one sitting and then go home, write his story, and claim the glory for a job well done. At the rate this woman was able to discuss her life, he would have to make multiple trips to Oak Junction to get the whole story. One hundred years was a lot of life to cover. It could take a year of traveling down to Georgia between other assignments to get enough information for a whole story about Miss Penbrook’s life. And who knew how much longer the old lady would live?
“Delta, how long does her mind remain cloudy after one of these episodes?”
A shrug lifted the ample shoulders. “She’ll probably wake up spry and clear-headed in the mornin’ and be a-wonderin’ how come you left in such an all-fired hurry.” Her thick lips curved into a hint of an indulgent smile.
Andy rubbed his chin, drawing the inside of his cheek between his teeth. “Where’s the nearest hotel?”
She gave him a quick once-over, amusement sparking her faded brown eyes. “Honey, if you go struttin’ around town actin’ like you’s from the North, you gonna get yourself hurt. Where’s the nearest hotel?” she mimicked. “What you should be askin’ is where can a colored fella stay for the night without gettin’ hisself lynched.”
Andy frowned at the aging housekeeper, then nodded. “Of course.”
She gave him a quick pat on his arm, then moved to a small desk. In a moment she handed him a sheet of paper with a name and address scribbled on it. “That’s my nephew Buck’s place. It’s a roomin’ house, not a hotel, but you just tell him Delta sent you and he’ll get you all fixed up.”
“Thank you, Miss Delta. You will get in touch with me when Miss Penbrook is able to see me again?”
She nodded and showed him to the door. “I still think it’s a bad idea. But you cain’t talk her outta something she gets into that head of hers. For some reason she thinks she needs to tell her story. And she won’t tell it to no one but you.”
“I wondered about that. Why do you think she wanted me?” Andy snatched his suitcase from the foyer floor. “Has she read my work in the paper, or do you think she remembers me?”
“She remembers you. Still talks about the smart little boy who used to get cookie crumbs all over her kitchen floor.” Delta’s stern gaze captured his. “But if you really want to know why she asked for you, you gonna have to ask Miz Penbrook yourself.”
Andy flashed her a grin and moved toward the door. “I just might. Thanks for the address.” He stepped aside and allowed Delta to open the door.
The same old timer who had brought him to Penbrook and likely saved him from the carload of white boys, sat in his wagon just beyond the step. Relief shifted through Andy.
“Looks like ole Jeb’s waitin’ to take you to town. Jus’ tell him you be wantin’ to go to Buck’s place. He can git you there.”
“Thank you.” Plopping his hat on his head, he sent her another grin.
Chapter Two
After a fitful night’s sleep, Andy rose early, washed his face, and wandered downstairs toward the heavenly smell of freshly boiled coffee and frying ham. Buck and Lottie Purdue proved to be a loving couple with a houseful of children and had welcomed Andy warmly. They’d even thrown in meals as part of the paltry sum he was paying for the use of a room.
“Good morning, Mr. Carmichael.” Mrs. Purdue’s cheerful smile greeted him as he entered the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am. And please, call me Andy.”
“The children’ll be down soon, but you might get to drink half a cup in peace.”
Andy smiled. “Children don’t bother me.”
“You must have some of your own, then. How many?” Mrs. Purdue set a mug in front of him on the table.
“No.” A lump formed in Andy’s throat. He swallowed it down with a gulp of burning coffee. “We lost two.”
Unable to abide the sympathy in the woman’s chocolate brown eyes, Andy turned away from his hostess and slid his finger around the edge of his cup.
“It’s all right.” She rinsed a dish under running water. “You don’t have to talk about it. I lost three of Buck’s babies before we got our first one. And look at how God’s blessed us since. A half a dozen and another one coming early next year.”
“I don’t think God’s too inclined to bless me with anything. But congratulations on the new baby.”
“Seems like you’ve been blessed with a good job, health, a wife.” She turned from the sink and smiled. “Wouldn’t you call those blessings?”
Mesmerized by her soft tones and easy grace, Andy didn’t have the will to argue. Besides, children began to filter in and clamor for their breakfast.
Directly after breakfast, a messenger arrived from Penbrook House announcing that Miss Penbrook regretted she would be unable to see Andy today. Perhaps tomorrow. In the meantime, she sent a box containing several books she hoped he would find interesting.
A heavy sigh escaped Andy’s lips as he scooped up the box and headed back to his room.
He sat on his bed and fingered the books, his stomach a whirl of butterflies as he realized what he had at his disposal. Not only did the box contain Miss Penbrook’s diary--in several volumes--but Madeline Penbrook’s and Catherina’s as well. He rummaged until he found the diary containing Madeline’s thoughts after her miscarriage.
Vaguely aware of the rumble of thunder outside, Andy stretched out on the bed and allowed Madeline Penbrook to take him into her world.
March 1849
It is settled. Tomorrow, Henry and I shall take Camilla and Catherina and move back to Missouri. I ache at the thought of snatching the child from her mother. After all, why did I abase myself to barter for human flesh if all for naught? I am appalled that Henry would sell Naomi to his father without my consent. But he insists our financial situation is not good and moving to Missouri will burden him further. I believe he sold her to punish me, though whether the punishment is due to losing his son or for defying him in the first place, I cannot be certain. He has changed so much I scarcely know him at all anymore. Or perhaps he has not changed and I never knew him to begin with.
At any rate, I have promised my dear friend Naomi that I will look after her daughter as though she were my own. Henry has reluctantly agreed we should raise Cat as a white girl (for her skin is as white as my own), though I can see he is unhappy with the idea. I would like to raise her as our daughter, especially since, sadly, the doctor has advised it does not appear to be God’s will that we have more children of our own. But Henry quite vehemently opposed my request. Indeed the suggestion enraged him and I feared for a moment he might strike me. Thankfully, he did not.
He has decided that we should tell folks she is an orphan child we’ve taken in. I despise the deception, but if I do not comply, Henry will insist she serve us as a slave.
The past few months have caused a wedge between us. I only pray our move north will remind him of the lessons he learned about human equality before we were wed. That he is willing to make the move is a beginning.
Praise be to God.
Missouri, ten years later
“I’ve completed my lessons, Miss Maddy.”
Madeline glanced up from her needlework and smiled at fourteen-year-old Cat. “Already?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The child worked so hard to please. She far surpassed Camilla in lessons such as reading and writing. And, as even Henry had to agree, Cat had a head for numbers.
“You’ve done very well, my dear. Come with me. I have a gift for you.” Madeline set aside her sewing and stood.
Camilla looked up from her place at the table, where she had been doing her best to ignore her lessons. “Have you a gift for me, too, Mother?”
Madeline hated to reward her daughter’s laziness, but she found it difficult to refuse the lovely blue eyes staring at her, wide with pleading.
“Of course I have,” she replied with an indulgent smile. “You may come along as well.”
The girls followed her to her bedroom, where Madeline removed a package for each from the bureau drawer.
Camilla squealed. “Oh, Mother, how lovely! A satchel--exactly like yours.”
“Yes.” Madeline smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. “And tablets so that you can keep account of your thoughts.”
Camilla flung herself into Madeline’s arms and rewarded her with an array of kisses. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Madeline laughed. “I trust you find the gift pleasing as well, Cat?”
Cat’s eyes widened, then pooled as she cradled the tablets to her chest. Swallowing hard, she nodded.
Madeline gently set Camilla aside and reached for Cat. “May I have a hug from you as well?”
Camilla huffed and stomped on the hardwood floor.
Cat darted a gaze at her and then back to Madeline. “Must I?”
Taken aback, Madeline frowned. “Why, no. But may I ask what has brought about this sudden aversion? You’ve been hugging me all these years. Are you suddenly too grown up?” She kept her tone deliberately light to disguise her hurt.
“No,” Cat replied hesitantly, but still did not come forward. “It isn’t proper behavior.”
“Why, Cat.” Madeline could not disguise her utter shock. “What an absurd thing for you to suggest.”
“Oh, Mother, you know it’s true. My goodness, have you ever seen one of Gram’s slaves up and give her a hug?” Camilla jutted her chin and gave a sniff. “I shudder to think what would happen.”
Madeline’s heart wrenched as Cat’s cheeks reddened and she lowered her gaze to the tips of her shoes. “Camilla Penbrook, I don’t know where you get such ideas. While it is true that your grandparents indulge in the institution of slavery, we do not. Cat is every bit as free as you are in this household and as dear to me as if she were my own child. I insist you apologize to her.”
Camilla’s eyes sparked defiance and, for a moment, Madeline thought she might refuse. Thankfully, she obeyed. Though not without a heavy sigh. “Sorry.”
“Now, go finish your lessons.”
Madeline turned back to Cat as Camilla flounced off to do as she had been instructed. “What about that hug?”
A smile instantly covered the lovely, angelic face and she rushed into Madeline’s arms. “Thank you, Miss Maddy,” she whispered.
Madeline pressed a kiss to the top of her chestnut curls. “You’re welcome, my dear. I hope you will find that writing down your thoughts helps you sort through life’s setbacks and joys, just as I have discovered for myself.”
They returned to the front room, Madeline to her sewing and Cat to her tablets and inkwell. Madeline would have loved to peek over the girl’s shoulder and read what was on her mind, but she determined to allow each of the girls her own thoughts without threat of invasion.
The door flung open and Henry staggered in, smelling of liquor. His bloodshot eyes made Madeline’s heart race with disappointment. He had promised no more spirits after he lost his favorite horse during his last bout of drunken gambling.
“Bedtime, girls,” she said quietly. “Run along, now. Quickly. I’ll be in soon to hear your prayers.”
“Let the girls stay,” Henry said, slurring his words. He staggered to his chair and sat hard. He reached out a shaky hand and pointed at Cat. “Come ’ere, you.”
Madeline gasped. “Henry!”
Cat stood as though frozen in place, her face drained of color.
“I said, come ’ere!”
Cat shuffled cautiously across the room until she stood before Henry. He grabbed her arm. “Where is he?”
“Wh–what?” Cat winced as his grip tightened.
A sneer curled his lips. “Don’t play innocent with me. You darkies know everything that goes on behind our backs.”
Madeline stepped forward and placed her hand over his. “Henry, for mercy’s sake. What on earth are you talking about?”
He loosened his grip and leaned back in his chair, though his gaze never left Cat’s face.
Much to Madeline’s dismay, living in Missouri had served the opposite effect to what she had hoped for. Though most who owned slaves held only one or two, a select few had acquired enough wealth to merit Henry’s attention. He sought out these slaveholders for his companions and openly opposed the abolitionists. The past few years had been highly disappointing for Madeline and distressing, if not a bit embarrassing, for her high-profile family. It broke her heart that she must be loyal to either her family or her husband. But she had to think of the girls. So Henry received her outward support.
However, this accusation and manhandling she could not abide. “Henry, don’t you think you owe Cat an apology? Gracious, I don’t know what has gotten into you.”
An unpleasant laugh rumbled from Henry’s throat. . .a laugh not quite reaching his eyes. “You would have me apologize to this. . .this Negress? This slave?” He ground out the words between clenched teeth.
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 3
